I’m shifting this week’s second release to Monday so I can share it with you, but don’t worry, Solaria Rising will continue as usual next week!

  Like Solaria Rising, every story I write these days—whether sci-fi, fantasy, or something else entirely—explores themes like transformation, healing, and self-discovery. And Wounded Angels, my newest book, goes straight to the heart of those themes.

  It’s been a long time coming, this journey from writing Wounded Angels to finally being ready to share it. I’ve had a few trusted folks reading for a while, and I posted an excerpt or two in private groups. But this? This is the real deal. Anybody can read it now. And reading Wounded Angels is to read me.

  And as you’ll see when you read Wounded Angels, I’m afraid of you—the one who could judge me, misunderstand me, tell me I’m no good. Inadequate. A loser.

  And yet, you could also become my newest connection. Someone to vibe with, be happy to hear from, bounce ideas off of. Maybe we’ll even inspire each other.

  So I’m taking the chance. I’m handing the book over to you, now. At least some parts of it.

  Below are two excerpts—one about my lifelong craving for intensity, and another featuring a conversation with one of my inner children that changed everything. If they resonate, I invite you to reach out.

  Why do I crave something so painful?

  I’m trying to get to the bottom of the way I crave intensity in relationships, which leaves me deep in chaos, enduring oil-gushers of toxic shame. My worst fears, that of having relationships break apart, become self-fulfilling prophecies—I have lost nearly all the people I ever dreaded losing.

  From where I sit now though, calmer and more introspective, a look back reveals the stark truth—I’m better off without them.

  My role as scapegoat meant my part in the drama was always front-and-center. So extreme. So easy to point to and say, Enough from that guy, I want out!

  At the same time, the more subtle dance of the willing participant manifested in ways that were easy to miss, like subtle manipulations, blurred boundaries, lack of forthrightness, empty gestures, broken promises…

  All of which I played right into, but never recognized as unhealthy such that I could do the inner work and create my own framework on how best to go forward, if at all. I was too hung up on judging myself for any such nuance back then.

  It has been years since the last time any important relationship had disintegrated. Ups and downs, sure, but I’m still on good terms with everyone I was close with as far back as a couple of years ago.

  The thing about intensity is that I often received it in return—to varying degrees—from willing participants, all of whom were seeking a similar connection. I loved them, and wanted that bond, but they weren’t safe for me.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Nor I them, painful though that is to admit. The groundwork was all wrong, the attraction unhealthy from the start.

  And yet I was the one who ramped up, eventually. Maybe to entice them, at first, but it pushed them away by design. Because their intensity was too much for me as well. Intense in different ways. Intense displays of their pain, or their focused awesomeness which I never recognized as love-bombing or toxic positivity until much later. My body knew it, though—toxic shame was a dead giveaway.

  This intensity draws me in, and I want it. I love it, in proper doses, and I don’t want to give it up. I want to focus it and understand it. To do that, I need to understand the part of me that seeks it out most actively—the first responder.

  This ‘first responder’ is a fearless risk-taker. He’s ready to smash down a door if that’s what it takes. He’s bound and determined to make things work, which is great, except when they don’t, because then he just keeps on battering down the doors—even when they’re there for my benefit.

  “What do you need most from me right now?” I asked the child.

  And the answer came: understanding.

  “What would make you feel happy and safe?”

  To be in a safe place.

  “What are you most afraid of?”

  That the numbing out won’t work.

  “Can you remember a time when I felt really joyful? What were we doing?”

  Watching the Brady Bunch, when there would be some happy ending. One of the Brady kids would learn a lesson, or realize they had what they really wanted after all, and I would feel like, "oh, they’re okay now."

  “How do you feel about forgiving those who hurt me?”

  I feel okay with it. Now that I see the patterns, and I want to, even though what they did wasn’t right and it was very hurtful.

  “What advice would you give me for today?”

  Love your daughter. (The sentiment here being, "Break the generational pattern," coming at me clear as day from somewhere far, far beyond—or maybe before—my experience...)

  “What changes do I notice in our life now compared to before?”

  Everything. It’s all changed. You never noticed me before, but that’s okay because you weren’t ready and you weren’t well, and you still needed my help numbing out. See? I was always there to help you. You’re welcome.

  He says all that in such a loving way, and I can hear his gentle laughter mixed in. Maybe these inner children are lightening up. Or maybe it’s me—finally seeing them in a different light, and lightening up too.

  I never did have a problem with the boob tube, in moderation or otherwise—as entertainment device, or even as coping method. So when I slip into those less-than-productive modes, I’m gentle with myself, knowing the need to cope, to check out sometimes, is a long-standing self-care decision I made at an early age.

  It isn’t just about willpower or screen addiction. It’s also about a little boy who needed to cope, and who helped me survive. Knowing that, knowing myself, makes a world of difference in perspective and understanding.

  And understanding may just be the most valuable habit of all.

  I'd like for you to read Wounded Angels, and I invite you to reach out if you feel drawn to it. I really want to touch base with the people who are sensing the importance of what this book represents. To connect, to hear your thoughts, and to find out how we can help each other.

  Wounded Angels is currently $4.44 on pre-order, and once it launches, the price will go up. If you’d like to lock in the lower price, now’s the time. Beyond the savings, every pre-order helps Wounded Angels gain visibility, making it more likely to reach the people it was meant for.

  To those who have already placed their trust in me and my story—I am deeply grateful.

  Wounded Angels is unlike anything I’ve ever written. It’s raw, real, and terrifying to share—but that’s exactly why I have to. It’s not just a memoir; it’s an invitation. A deep dive into my inner world, my wounds, my healing.

  If any of that speaks to you, you might find something in Wounded Angels to inspire your own journey.

  Thanks for holding space for me on this. Whether or not I hear from you about Wounded Angels, I look forward to seeing you next week with the next chapter of Solaria Rising!

  —David